MEMORIAL 







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OR 





.A. POEM 




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Faunded on Facts 



MEMDRLRL 



EECDRATIQN EAY 



A POEM 



FOUNDED ON FACTS. 



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PRESENTED WITH COMPLIMENTS. 



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COPYRIGHT 1891, 

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ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 






PREFATORY. 



The tale is an original one. founded on an incident oi 
actual occurrence— a simple touching story, portraying 
good and charitable impulses acted out under circum- 
stances where bitter prejudices and strong feelings would 
naturally tend to stifle them. 

It is no apology for the Rebellion, nor any paliation oi 
its enormities. The lesson it teaches is that hitter animosi- 
ties however well founded ought, so far as they relate to 
individuals, to terminate at the grave. 



••When cold in the grave lies the friend thou hast loved, 
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then. 

But if from their slumber the vail he removed, 
Weep o'er them in silence and < lose it again." 



A PDEM 



>rpWAS balmy morning in the month <>l May, 

The golden sun-light gleamed o'er hill and dale 
And kissed the sparkling dew-drops .is they lay 

Profusely sprinkled on the flowery vale — 
Till one by one they hid their glittering eyes 
Bade earth adieu, and vanished to the skies 
Thus dawned the morning in the month ol .May. 
Thus nature welcomed "Decoration Day." 






/""^ RIM war had erased, its ghastly wounds u < re healed. 

Its banners furled— and mighty armies fled, 
But here and there its relies were revealed 

In shattered walls and eities ol the dead; 
And mourning ones that wandered to and fro 

In vestments dark and countenance of woe. 
These were the records Time had nol effaced 
That ruthless war in fire and blood had traced. 



Near yonder hill where grave-stones thickly stand 

Amid the grove that shields them from the eye 
Where runs the silvery brooklet o'er tin- sand 

With ceaseless murmer as it passes b) 
Where earliest flowerets greel the coming Spring 

And parting day-lighl last is lingering 
Rest Patriot martyrs neath the hallowed so<| 

Who gave their lives to Liberty and God. 



r pHlTHER the sad procession wends its way, 
Widows and orphans mingling in the train 
While tattered banners, battle-scared betray 

Mow brothers hate when war's fierce passions reign. 
Oh may such hatred never more return 

But in its stead may Love's pure incense burn 
May sweet Forgiveness like the flowers ye bring 

Yield perfume to the heart, and cause perennial Spring 



Though vast this City of the fallen brave 

The living Friends with pious care bestow 
A floral offering upon every grave 

Moist with affections tears as if to show 
The risen Spirits fondly lingering near 

How cherished yet, their memory — and how dear 
The sacred spot where rests the earthly form 

Securely now from battle's raging storm. 



TTVVCH grave was decked with wreaths of buds ■-■'• flowers, 

The fittest tribute to the honored dead — 
To those who battled for these homes of ours 

And precious blood on Freedom's altar shed. 
One mound there was remote from all the rest 

No pathway toward it, by no hand carressnl 
None cared for this — and none a tribute irave, 

All turned away — for 'twas a "Rebel's Grave." 



Amid the throng a little girl was seen 

Wending her footsteps towards the lonely mound 
The grass upon it, was as fresh and green 

As that which grew on consecrated ground 
"Tis true" she said "that others seem to scorn 

This one lone grave so friendless and forlorn 
But I will go and strew with little flowers 

What God baptised with sunshine and with showers. 



HP HE tender tribute which pure childhood gave 

Called forth rebuke from some who stood anear 
"Why scatter roses on a Rebel's Grave 

Twas not for this, that we assembled here." 
The girl looked up in innocent surprise 

Through tear-drops gathering in her hazel eyes 
At length in faltering accents she replied 

To those who would her noble motives chide: 



"My own dear Father was a soldier too, 

Far in the Sunn)' South he marched away 
With friends and comrades dressed in Union Blue 

To meet the Rebel enemy in Gray. 
He kissed his darling — told me not to cry, 

"When will you come," I said, he answered "by and by' 
But O he'll never Come ! for he was slain 

And now lies buried on the battle plain. 



TDERHAPS some little southern girl will go 

And deck poor Papa's grave with Sunny flowers 
And oh ! how happy I would be to know- 
That it was cared for as we care for ours 

And if she should — I could not love the one 
Who blamed her for so kind an action done. 

Hard is the heart and cruel, that denies 
A single flower where buried Papa lies." 



"And who can tell but in that distant land 

Some little orphan girl like me, has cried 
Because no Father takes her by the hand 

And now she knows not when nor where he died 
It may be true, that in this very spot. 

Neglected here avoided and forgot 
The father of my unknown sister lies 

For whom she nightly prays, and grieves, and cries. 



TT7HILE gazing here I heard an Angel say 

"On yon lone mound, thy prettiest roses strew, 
Then on thy Father's Grave — so faraway 

I'll cause some hand to do the same for you." 
"Sweet Angel voice--I hastened to obey 
My heart was happy and I could not stay — 
Dear Orphan friend whom God to me has given 
I'll love and clasp her when we meet in Heaven." 



The simple story of the orphan child 

Moved many hearts to tenderness and tears 
The Angel-impulse they at first reviled 

All see anew — and every heart reveres. 
These holy accents uttered by the tongue 

Of one so stricken — beautiful and young 
Seemed a new law of Charity and Love, 

Revealed all pure from brighter realms above-. 



OUCCEEDING seasons came and passed away— 

The annual offerings to the dead were made; 
At each return of Decoration Day 

Bright wreaths of flowers on every grave were laid, 
And none more fragrant beautiful and fair 

Than on the lonely mound were scattered there 
In tender mem'ry of the Orphan Child 

Whose spirit gazed from Paradise and smiled. 



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